Since civilization's beginning, the haves have controlled the have-nots to their own ends.
Conquests and revolutions are merely exchanges of power, of might makes right.
The masses whine and grumble, but ever accept the crumbs and carnivals.

* * * *
How many more concepts there are
With the passage of time.
In every realm there are vocabularies
Which did not even begin to exist in prior times.
The impetuous, harsh sharpness of our unsheathed scholarship,
Is an undiscerning blade of creation and destruction
We are not even remotely close to mastering.

* * * *
What is there to be but what you already are?
How can fruit know what it is to ripen?
Caterpillars to fly? Buds to flower?
Any pattern to reach maturation,
But through faith in nowness
That isness will ever be so.

* * * *
Any given mythos may try to explain the journey,
But none can convey any to where all paths end.

* * * *
Real suffering is that of a physical nature,
Of sickness, injury, aging, and dying,
And those only while they last.
All psychological pain is self-inflicted.

* * * *
Humankind has but a fleeting window of opportunity
To observe beyond its destructive attachments
To geography, culture, politics, economics, and religion,
To perceive, to distinguish the broadest picture, the greatest whole.

* * * *
All humankind seems to have really gleaned from history’s passing
Are endless techniques and might to ravage the garden
And its little folk with savage efficiency.

* * * *
Coming to grips with the realization of your ultimate nature,
With the fact that you are the clayness of which everything is founded,
That you are one with the power, the light, and the wonder,
Is a journey limited only by your inner vision.